Winding along the Vecht

‘up and on my way early to Schiphol airport (AMS) for a mid-afternoon flight back to the UK.  I was meeting a friend at 7:30, so ik word wakker at  5:30 and ben op weg at 7:00.  My suitcase clatttered over the over the cobbles to the station, I paused for the occasional picture of the rising sun behind the gebouwen in de Wijk.

I’m going to miss this, although it felt like an odd visit.  The occasional connection to old friends, the neighborhood changes since April, questions of ‘how to live’ now that I’m making organizational and lifestyle adjustments, all throw doubt around how long I’ll stay along the Maas.  The restaurant is successful enough to expand to the 1st floor apartment, so mine is the only residence left in the building.

With a couple of hours to spare until I needed to arrive at Schiphol, I started thinking about which mooie dorpen to visit on the way north.  Breukelen (rhymes with Brooklyn, from which the New York borough derived it’s name, meaning ‘broken land’) was an obvious choice.   It was once the royal place for Amsterdam’s traders to live, and their mansions remain set into the lush green forests and gardens along the Vecht river.  The quaint village has views along the river and the Loosdrechtse Plassen, a lake bordered by serrated shorelines (and the village of Scheendijk) where peat  once was harvested.  There’s a notable Dutch bridge and a bustling market in the town center, perfect for losing myself for an hour.

And then the rains came.

Unfortunately this forced me onto a bus to reach town, running every half hour to match the trains.  It was otherwise a 2 km walk.  There was no way to catch the bus, spend an hour, and get back to the station in time to catch my plane. 

Studying the maps, though, I found that the 120 bus traveled from the station all the way to Amsterdam Bijlmar ArenA, the home of the Ajax football team and on the direct line to Schiphol.  One hour travel time, a meandering track along the estates along the river and a string of small villages. 

It was a plan.

 

Torrential rain prevented photography, and I really needed longer to linger, hopping on and off the bus.   But it’s a wonderful ride, with lots to see along the way.   The route passes mansions and gardens, winds between canals along either side, and crosses through beautiful small villages, café’s and shops. 

It would be even better by bike, and I’ve marked the route for a future sunny day with more time to explore.   The only change that I might make is to bail at th4e Holendrecht Train Station, about 3/4 of the way along.  From there, the bus travels through industrial parks with striking modern architecture, but the best part is the earliest part.

Tulip fields in Lisse

We spent the day riding bikes through the tulip fields in Lisse, north near the Keukenhof Gardens, and enjoying the Bloemencorso Bollenstreek.  It was a cloudy day, not the best light for taking photographs, but the rain cleared in time for the flower parade.  Young and old filled the bands and floats; there were debates about the number and quality of this year’s displays compared to others.  But it was a nice community event: I wonder if it’s also the type that may not survive the passing of another generation.

      

Village spring, country spring

Easter is almost upon us, two days of Pasen with the expected trimmings: Belgian chocolate eggs, marshmallow chicks, meringue bird’s nests and marzipan cakes.  I’ve been oscillating back and forth between Cambridge and Maastricht, logging  lot of hours by bike and train, watching city and country flow past.

I’ve often commented that the Dutch landscape echoes the great plains.  It’s flat and lush, rolling out in green sheets to a geometric horizon.  The low skies are there, reflected steel blue in irrigation ditches and rivers, dotted with horses and sheep.  The occasional vineyard and village flash by through the train windows, mornings softened with grey mist, evenings sharpened by yellow sunsets.

 

Still, it’s mostly empty compared to British fields carved up with hedges, less rolling than the fields in Normandy.  The farms are long, low, and tidy: a surprising number of ornamental trees and garden sculptures giving the barns and houses extra character.  The villages are bounded by rivers and roads: red brick row houses suddenly appear, the tall central church, a station platform, water, then more fields.

In contrast, the towns and cities are all very individual, winding streets and pocket greens, eroded defense walls alongside eccentric glass offices.

 

In contrast to other parts of Europe, the central farmlands seem less interesting than the villages and cities.  Nebraska still has echoes of the parries, Cambridge the Fens: the Groene Hart was likely vast river deltas and marshland, now gone except for the sand and the canals.  It’s beautiful in its own way as the flowing trees and ripening fields come back to life after winter, but I still tend to linger among the village shops and festivals as Easter approaches.

Naar Valkenburg

Saturday was the last sunny day forecast for the next week, so it was delightful when friends asked about a bike trip out to Valkenburg.  The city, formally Valkenburg aan de Geul, is a 16th century fortress town about a half-hour cycle ride east of Maastricht in the rolling farmland of South Limburg.  It’s a bit of a tourist trap these days, narrow streets crowded with busses and bistros, but there’s good bike trails out through lesser villages and the only elevated castle in the Netherlands in Valkenburg itself.

One good stopping point is Houthem Sint-Gerlach, marked by a colorful bit of architecture at the edge of the village, the Ronald McDonald Kindervallei.  Yes, Ronald McDonald.  But it is, nonetheless, a unique bit of architecture, colorful and pleasantly skewed, a bit in Miro’s style..

 

Beyond, on the other side of town, is the Sint-Gerlachus church, built on the site of a legendary oak tree.  It was created to remember a rich local merchant, who realized too late that he had spent his life neglecting his family in his pursuit of money, and so dedicated his life to penance and good works.  When he died a church was built around his tree, today it is the only church in the Netherlands with fresco painted on the marl stone (sandstone) walls.  The overall effect is like a New England church, light and airy in shades of blue and white.  An attached Chateau holds a hotel and sculpture gardens.

Valkenburg is topped with the ruins of an ancient castle (bonus points for knowing the difference between a Kasteel and a Slot).  The structure was torn down and rebuilt several times before finally being destroyed forever in 1672.  From town only a few walls seem standing, but once on the hilltop there’s actually a surprising number of rooms and stairways preserved. The construction is entirely from local sandstone, quarried from the hillsides below, giving a warm glow to the walls.

The village is hosting summer art works, putting contemporary sculptures around the town’s roofs and above the castle.   Martijn Riksen’s works are a bit like the Gormley nudes that appeared above London a couple of years ago (and are now gracing alpine peaks), but more varied and whimsical.  I liked his conversion of the 16-sided tower basement into a pool with a diver far above waiting to take the plunge.  It’s not being publicized anywhere, but adds a nice grace note to a visit.

And don’t leave town without a long, slow drought of the local brew Lindeboom, ‘t bier van hier.

Biking to Eijsden

Today was a wonderfully sunny day, unusual after the cold nights and foggy mornings that we've been having the past week. Although there was work to be done (housework if nothing else), the rivers and fields were far more tempting, so I saddled up the Locomotief ( a vintage east-german bicycle according to my Dutch friends, with more years on its frame than it cost me in euros) and headed south.

The road out of town leads to Eijsden (right, courtesy Google Maps), one of the oldest and most southern villages in the Netherlands. Originally funded as a roman settlement, then becoming one of the dominant areas for fruit-trees, and finally a center for producing zinc and gravel, the village has now become a bedroom community for Maastricht. There are rows of neat, modern brick houses, a small village square, café's along the river, and a chateau / castle at the perimeter. The bike path winds through orchards and fields of cows, finally ending up at the river crossing past the town center.

The Netherlands are thick with irrigation canals and diverted creeks; many fields and country homes are bordered by small, straight, neatly tended waterways, with small bridges and earthworks connecting homes to streets, paddock to field, and town to island. Larger rivers, such as the Waal near Tiel or the Meuse near Eijsden, are served by small private ferry boats. These are quick and efficient, chugging back and forth across the river every few minutes, carrying pedestrians and cyclists for a one-euro fare each way.

The Eijsden ferry is unique because it leaves the Netherlands on the east bank and lands in Belgium to the west (the while line snaking through the map, above). Both countries fly flags at their docks; I'm not sure how it functioned before the Schengen treaty opened the borders (everyone had to flash their passport and have their saddlebags inspected during the crossing?) In any case it makes for a nice break in the ride: everyone lines up at the shore and exchanges route suggestions and restaurant reviews while waiting for the boat. There's a rush to get good rail position once the ferry docks, and the children poke at the passing ducks and swans as the boat chugs over.

Both banks of the river have cafes that offer bier, vlaai, and shade to watch the flow of traffic: the vast majority of people were headed from the Dutch to the Belgian side this Sunday. Cyclists were evenly divided between casual family bikers and serious teams in matching helmets and spandex. It's going to be a while before I'm in shape for the super suit.

The route back north passes the Sluis, deep locks that lift working barges over a drop in the river. Many cyclists stop to watch the boats go up and down: I think that there's a Dutch link and fascination with the water and the boats since the show draws in everyone, not just the children. The full circle beyond the locks leads back to the old city wall and gate of Maastricht, about three hours of very leisurely autumn riding, looking, and eating.

Cutting the wood in Itteren

Out for a Sunday drive with friends, we came across a street festival in the village of Itteren, flush against the Belgian border north of Maastricht.m  These are common across the Netherlands in summer, a chance to drink beer, listen to music, and enjoy the sunshine.

In this case, the center of attraction was a stout oak log mounted on a trestle outside the main tavern.  For a small chartable donation, brawny contenders could take the return at a cross-cut saw, slicing off a round from the end of the log.  Best time gets a silver trophy; worst gains a scarecrow.

Being from the Land of Tall Trees in the Pacific Northwest,  felt a kinship with the competition, and the barker offered a half price go since  had only one good leg.  Being an American, unusual in the area, was icing on the cake.

My friend Will and  took our positions and they set a groove to start the cut.    took a full-frontal stance to keep my weight off the recovering leg, which lost me both leverage and balance, the saw immediately popped free with the first push.  The referee, put a firm hand on top, holding it n place as we started to cut down through the log.

It’s  harder than it looks.  Much.

First, there was the problem of the saw curling with each push. The answer, suggested by the woman with the microphone, was to only pull.  Things improved immediately.

The blade still sank slowly through the log.  One minute.  Will and  tried to rock the blade a bit, pulling down and through.  Sawdust flew, I think we were at the center of the log.

 

Two minutes.  The exertion is causing my stance to decay.  Still, the chord of the log shrank with every cut.  Progress became quicker, the round wobbled.  The woman suggested that rest breaks were allowed; we redoubled.

Finally, a last heave, and the round popped off: 2:59.  We broke the three-minute mark, at least, securing a second-to-last finish (someone else scored a 3:14). The winner was about 50 seconds: I was awarded a specially signed round and we took a beer into the shade to watch how it’s really done.

   I think, in fact, I see the stance, the angle, the technique.

       I’m dreaming, already, of next year’s glory…

The eels of Harderwijk

It was a sunny, if cold day on Sunday, perfect for getting out into the countryside and exploring a new village.  I’m not sure that Harderwijk made the list of 50 Mooieste Dorpen, but it seems like a particularly good family destination.

Harderwijk is an old port city along the Veluwemeer, the broad river-like extension of the Ijsselmeer extending east from Amsterdam and separating Gelderland from the Flevoland polder.  The map, left, is from the local Admiraal restaurant: south is, artistically, towards the top.  The city is surrounded by the Veluwe, wide rolling pine forests popular with bikers and campers.  It’s a beautiful drive on a nice day, as trees extend for miles to give the area a very different character than the traditional flat, open fields and rivers that are common across the Dutch landscape.

The city dates back to the 13th century when it was a busy fishing port on the Zuider Zee, completely surrounded by a brick wall that protected it from man and sea. Cut off in 1932, that heritage is mainly captured today by the restaurants lining the waterfront and the Dolfinarium.  While reconstructed bits of the seawall remain, together with bits of the old city and the Grote Kerk, the overall impression is more of a New England seaside town, with colonial brick and white buildings and gas-lantern posts at the corners.

The inner harbor has a wonderful collection of Dutch barges and sailing boats framing a historic windmill, while the outer harbor is filled with sailboats and yachts framing the blue dome of the Dolfinarium.

 

The street vendors are advertising paling at every turn.  ‘Not related to the US variety (left), this is a local smoked eel (right).

I didn’t have the courage to eat one off the cart, but the ample bones on the street suggest that the Dutch slurp them down much as they would a haring. The local restaurant served it sliced on bread, the smoked flavor was more delicate than I expected and the meat had a stronger texture .

The town sounds popular with tourists in summer, and it looks like there are lots of opportunities for dingy sailing and racing, full of potential as a nice day trip from Amsterdam or Utrecht.